


Not Quite Like This

by saltandbyrne



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Knotting, M/M, Rimming, Sex Toys, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles needs to get ready for Derek's knot.  Derek gets him a gift to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite Like This

If you had asked Stiles a year ago where he'd expect to find himself at 4:37 on a Tuesday afternoon, he would have given you a long and snarky list of unlikely possibilities.

 

Laid out on his twin-size bed while his underwear model slash werewolf kinda sorta maybe boyfriend-ish person licked his asshole until Stiles almost had tears in his eyes? That shit wouldn't even have made the top one million list of possible Tuesday afternoons.

 

And yet here Stiles is, one hand hitched behind his knee to pull his leg up closer to his chest, other hand fisted in his mouth to stifle the pathetic whimpers he lets out every time Derek does _that_ with his tongue. Obviously his Dad isn't home, Stiles isn't that stupid, but at this point he's worried about the people two blocks down hearing him.

 

Stiles' cock lies neglected against his belly, steady stream of precome making a shiny little pool below his navel. Stiles groans as another drop gets added to Lake Pre-jizz when Derek presses his thumbs down on either side of his hole and spreads him open a little further, tongue dipping in to lap at the newly-exposed flesh. The loud huff of breath Stiles lets out as Derek darts his tongue around is the quietest he can manage.

 

“You ready?” Derek growls, seriously his default talk-setting, not that Stiles is complaining. Derek starts to circle his thumb around Stiles' spit-slick hole.

 

“Unh-hnnf,” is really an admirable attempt at coherent, affirmative speech as far as Stiles is concerned. Especially when Derek gives him about 0.02 seconds to respond before he's pressing his thumb right alongside his tongue, hot pressure making Stiles yelp.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groans out, his hips circling up of their own volition as Derek sinks his thumb all the way in to the webbing, tongue slip-sliding in next to it until Stiles can't tell which one's in and which one's out. Not that he really gives a fuck as long as some part of Derek is in his ass.

 

The thumb turns into two fingers, slippery and cold with what Stiles assumes is lube. Derek likes to sneak into his window armed with lube and whatever other surprise sex things he's got clipped to his utility belt like fucking gay-sex Batman.

 

“Got you something.” Speak of the devil.

 

“For little old me?” Stiles manages to fire back, a little too shaky to have any edge to it but for fuck's sake who says that and then licks a hot stripe up a guy's balls?

 

Derek nods his head, eyes placid as he looks up at Stiles. This is obviously also the perfect time for Derek to work a third finger inside him and _curl them holyfuckingfuckface_.

 

Scott might joke that nothing on earth can shut Stiles up, but Stiles has a secret list of things that can render him speechless. Derek's index, middle, and ring fingers are definitely in the top five, especially when they press forward with that steady, unyielding pressure on that _spot_. Jesus christ, it had taken Derek about five seconds to find the “make Stiles' fucking head explode” button that had apparently been hiding in his ass all these years. Stiles would almost be mad at all the years of awesome jerking off he's obviously missed if he could think about anything other than how it's gonna feel when Derek actually fucks him.

 

Derek might be worried about that whole “I have a fucking gigantic freak monster cock with a knot and extra fucking bells and whistles on it” thing, but Stiles was just getting impatient about it. Derek kept saying he had to get him ready for it and let his body get used to taking it and blah blah blah. Stiles secretly suspected that Derek was just a sadistic bastard who got off on watching Stiles writhe on his hand and moan for it like a bitch.

 

And Stiles was definitely not too good to bitch it right on up, spreading his legs and arching his back to meet every thrust of Derek's clever, curling, bastard fingers.

 

“Hoooooooly fuck I'm, yeah, fuck, I'm gonna -” Stiles feels his chest jerk in surprise as Derek wraps a firm hand around the base of dick and squeezes, the fucker.

 

“Uh-uh,” Derek shakes his head, little disapproving pout on his shiny-wet lips. “Not yet.”

 

Stiles grits his teeth and rolls his eyes. Derek sinks his fingers in deeper, slowly rocking them in and out. “Don't want you to come till you see what I got you.” What's that word? A mewl, yes, that's it, that's the sound Stiles makes when Derek pulls his fingers out and stands up.

 

The mewl sort of morphs into a desperate whine as Stiles watches Derek stand up, naked as the day he was born (unless he really did come out as a puppy, Stiles isn't 100% clear on that one). Werewolf or not, no one walks around with that kind of swagger without packing some serious heat downstairs. Stiles feels his mouth water as he watches Derek's spectacular, Platonic ideal of a werewolf cock bob between his legs as he steps by the window to rummage through his jacket.

 

Stiles thinks that if Derek isn't getting a condom out he's actually going to die of not-getting-fucked-in-the-ass-itis. He should probably be a lot more nervous than he is at the thought of getting stuffed full of that whole _situation_ , but thinking about it just makes Stiles' balls nestle up a little closer as he recalcitrantly strokes his cock.

 

“Gotta get you ready,” Derek says, low and slow and deadly with his hands behind his back, “to take a knot.” Derek smiles at him, knowing little smirk because he knows that Stiles knows that he can hear his heartbeat, never mind the comically-loud gulp of excitement that Stiles swallows down. Just hearing Derek say “knot” is enough to get Stiles' heart galloping on forward into desperate whore valley, trusty “I am not above bribing you to fuck me” cavalry sword at his side.

 

“So I picked a little something up for you.” Derek settles back on the bed, up on his knees between Stiles' helpfully-spread legs. He's still got one hand behind his back, head tilted to the side as he reaches out to swat Stiles' hand off his dick.

 

Derek licks his lips and spits into his hand, slowly stroking himself as he just looks at Stiles, who's too busy looking at Derek's cock sliding back and forth in his fist to really notice. Derek licks over his canines and works himself faster. Stiles can only blame some Pavlovian conditioning for his compulsive lip-licking as he watches Derek, watches how he speeds up and stops again, watches how his hand starts to stop three inches above the base as his knot starts to swell up.

 

Derek takes a deep breath and runs his hand over the back of his neck, body arched forward perfectly to showcase his cock, that ridiculous V of his hips drawing Stiles' eyes down like a fucking dick-arrow.

 

“Are you, um, gonna, you know, we could, I can totally -”

 

Derek cuts him off with a terse, “Shh.” Stiles feels sort of stupid thinking of Derek's grin as wolfish, because, duh, but there's really no other way to describe that predatory, self-satisfied smirk.

 

“You'll get it, don't worry. But first...” Derek raises his eyebrows dramatically, slowly pulling his arm from behind his back.

 

Ladies and gentlemen, behind door number one we have …

 

“Oh. Is that … where did you...?” Stiles gapes at the big black rubber _thing_ in Derek's hand, which is shaped just like Derek's cock but on a smaller scale. Derek sees him looking and helpfully lines it up to demonstrate.

 

“It's like a mini-me. Thought it'd be good practice.” Stiles isn't totally sure that Derek knows he just made an Austin Powers reference. Dances with wolves over here doesn't always get pop culture references, so Stiles ditches the quip about whether it has lasers on its head in favor of just nodding frantically.

 

Derek bites his lip and scoots himself forward, setting the toy down by Stiles' hip. He pours some more lube on his fingers and works them back into Stiles, tongue caught between his lips as he concentrates. Stiles adds another moan to the long list of shameless sounds he's made this afternoon, canting his hips up to meet Derek halfway.

 

“The guy at the store said it's called 'David'.” Derek scrunches his nose up, like it's just normal conversation time, like Stiles can have a good laugh that someone named a rubber werewolf dick 'David'. “Isn't that funny?” Derek shakes his head and smiles, curling his fingers up right the fuck _there_ as Stiles' attempted joke about whether 'David' is circumcised turns into a sort of pathetic puppy whine.

 

“Yeah, you're ready,” Derek says more to himself than to Stiles, withdrawing his fingers and smirking as Stiles' puppy whine dies off. Stiles balls his fists in the sheets and pants, nervous and excited and turned on as fuck and a million other things that make him feel like his guts are curled up into a tight ball of static electricity.

 

Derek pours about half the bottle of lube on 'David', spreading it out with his hand. The head of it feels strange against Stiles' hole, alien and colder than anything he's used to feeling down there. “Just relax,” Derek murmurs, eyes going dark as he presses the toy in. “Just like that.”

 

Stiles throws his head back against the sweat-damp pillow, mouth hanging open as he breathes and feels himself open around the toy. It's intrusive and filling and it burns but it's _good_ , so good Stiles tries to rock himself up to take a little more of it than Derek's giving him.

 

“Greedy,” Derek husks out, and clearly Stiles isn't the only one enjoying this. Stiles looks up to see Derek's dick sweating precome out the tip like a whore in church, throbbing red and shaking a little bit every time Derek draws the toy out and thrusts it back in.

 

“This is what it'll be like.” Derek pulls the toy all the way out, leaving Stiles empty and miserable and clawing at the bed to get it back inside _now_. “Get you all wet for me,” Derek pauses to push Stiles' legs up, spitting down right onto his hole and jesus _fuck_ that's hot, “fuck you till I'm ready to come.” Derek slides the toy back in, wet push of it to stop just above the round knot at the base, teasing it back and forth until Stiles is squirming and fucking himself back onto it.

 

“And then,” Derek says gruffly, abruptly stopping to press the toy all the way in, “I'll knot you.” Stiles grits his teeth as he feels the blunt pressure against him, muscles flexing to give way as Derek pushes forward. It's too much, too much and too big and too fucking holy fuck yes yes _yes._

 

Stiles is pretty sure he hears Derek say, “Knew it,” but all he can really focus on is that curled up little ball in his gut cresting forward to race up his spine and shoot sparks out of his fucking eyeballs, body arching up off the bed as every inch of him tenses up and fires on all cylinders. His toes curl into his sheets as Derek angles the toy just right and Stiles shoots all over his belly, not a hand on his dick as he comes like it's getting ripped out of him.

 

“Get on your belly.” Stiles couldn't move himself if he had a gun to his head, and he apparently still has a fake cock in his ass as Derek rolls him over, muscles rippling around it with the aftershocks of his orgasm as Derek lays down on top of him.

 

“You're gonna come when I fuck you,” Derek growls against him, slotting his dick up right behind Stiles' nuts. “Feel you squeeze it out of me.” Derek starts to rut against him, every forward thrust of his hips jarring the toy inside of Stiles. “Tie you off and fuck, _fuck_...”

 

Derek's words are coming out thicker, and Stiles is sure that if he turned around he'd see Derek sporting a fang-boner to match the spectacular one he's rubbing off between Stiles' legs. But all Stiles can do is drool into his pillow as Derek bears down on him, hot breath on his neck as he speeds up.

 

“Tie you off and pump you full of pups, fuck, Stiles, god, _fuck_ ,” Derek chokes off, hand clamping down on the back of Stiles' neck as Derek's rumbling growl echoes through his chest. Stiles can feel the wet, hot flood of it between his legs, and that whole fill you up thing is no joke. Derek doesn't leave a wet spot so much as create a natural disaster.

 

Again, things that would never in a million years have made Stiles' list of potential Tuesday afternoons? Chubbing up for round however the fuck many times he's gotten off today while his underwear model werewolf maybe-boyfriend dumps a Big Gulp full of jizz on his nuts and growls about knocking him up with ass-puppies.

 

Not that Stiles is complaining.

 

“Clean yourself up, I gotta run.” Derek rolls off him some indeterminate amount of time later, Stiles wasn't exactly watching the clock, picking Stiles' t-shirt up off the floor for a perfunctory wipe of his junk before he gets dressed. Derek breaks off Stiles' post-not-quite-fucking reverie as he slowly pulls good old 'David' out.

 

“Really know how to make a guy feel special,” Stiles gripes from the bed, unwilling to move from his buoy in Lake Derek-spunk.

 

Derek pauses as he pulls on his t-shirt, an expression as close to apologetic as he's capable of pulling on his face. He crouches down by the bed and smirks, rolling Stiles onto his back to kiss him.

 

“You know I'll be back.” Derek kisses him again. “And you're gonna fuck yourself with this,” Derek smacks him playfully on the hip with the toy, “a couple times a day until I think you're ready.”

 

Stiles' really excellent Van Halen joke about his homework never being quite like this goes up in smoke as Derek leans down and licks a flat swipe of his tongue over Stiles' belly, lapping up a tacky mouthful of Stiles' come.

 

Derek licks his lips and sighs out a contented, “Mmmm,” standing up to shrug on his leather jacket.

 

“See you later, kid,” Derek says as Stiles waves sleepily at him. At least Stiles is used to Derek's post-makeout defenestration routine by now, not batting an eyelash as he just disappears out the window.

 

Stiles rolls over, seeking out a slightly-less-wet spot and failing. He picks 'David' up, chuckling at the ridiculous name and the fact that both of them have homework to do together. Glancing down at his half-woody, Stiles figures there's no time like the present.

 

While Stiles could easily have imagined a Tuesday afternoon slogging through homework, he could never have imagined it being quite like this.

 

He's not complaining.

**Author's Note:**

> You can buy a [David of your very own](http://bad-dragon.com/products/david). NSFW times a thousand!


End file.
